Huba Huba

United States

Writer, poet, musician, wanna-be-botanist.
Sleep deprived.
Call me a monster, I put milk in before the cereal.
I'm probably eating ramen right now or having a mental breakdown.
Imagine having an aesthetic bio
Joined: May 26, 2020

Message from Writer

Please read my work and tell me about your opinions.
I'd love to make some writing friends on this platform, let's help each other!
PHEwwww that sounded cheesy, but I meant it.

Published Work

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

Wars Within

a young bird admires
the glistening brightness, the 
blueish haze of the ocean, 
reflecting the sky. little 
did she know, the ocean would 
drown her in its salt, and
its dark, melancholy, deep end. 
it was until then she knew regret.  

she survives, but finds herself 
wandering without a goal. 
she sees a shining, conspicuous fruit. 
she is drawn to the berry; but
she knew the beauty radiated poison. for
the ocean's betrayal had taught her so,
her friendship with regret had taught her so, 
for the beauty that had deceived her once already,
but
her feet could not stop inching forward. 

it was until then she realizes; that
regret begins our wages of war within, and
the fear of regret fights curiosity;
Intellectualism fights Emotion. 
the fight is like an indecisive rider, 
who orders a horse to turn left, 
but drags the partnering horse to the right.

_______________________________

Poem read aloud link: 
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1S5F9PPAq_oryarfk44fwgVgi6SnLnivf/view?usp=sharing 


 

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

Wars Within

a young bird admires
the glistening brightness, the 
blueish haze of the ocean, 
reflecting the sky. little 
did she know, the ocean would 
drown her in its salt, and
its dark, melancholy, deep end. 
it was until then she knew regret.  

she survives, but finds herself 
wandering without a goal. 
she sees a shining, conspicuous fruit. 
she is drawn to the berry; but
she knew the beauty radiated poison. for
the ocean's betrayal had taught her so,
her friendship with regret had taught her so, 
for beauty had deceived her once already,
but
her feet could not stop inching forward. 

it was until then she realizes; that
regret begins our wages of war within, and
the fear of regret fights curiosity;
Intellectualism fights Emotion. 
the fight is like an indecisive rider, 
who orders a horse to turn left, 
but drags the partnering horse to the right.



 

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

Wars Within

a young bird admires
the glistening brightness, the 
blueish haze of the ocean, 
reflecting the sky. little 
did she know, the ocean would 
drown her in its salt, and
its dark, melancholy, deep end. 
it was until then she knew regret.  

she survives, but finds herself 
wandering with no goal. 
she sees a shining, conspicuous fruit. 
she is drawn to the berry; 
she knew the beauty radiated poison, 
for beauty had deceived her once already,
but
her feet could not stop inching forward. 

it was until then she realizes; that
regret begins our wages of war within, and
the fear of regret fights curiosity;
Intellectualism fights Emotion. 
the fight is like an indecisive rider, 
who orders a horse to turn left, 
but drags the partnering horse to the right.



 

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

Wars Within

a young bird admires
the glistening brightness, the 
blueish haze of the ocean, 
reflecting the sky. little 
did she know, the ocean would 
drown her in its salt, and
its dark, melancholy, deep end. 
it was until then she knew regret.  

after surviving the fall, 
she sees a shining, conspicuous fruit. 
she is drawn to the berry; 
she knew the beauty radiated poison, 
for beauty had deceived her once already,
but
her feet could not stop inching forward. 

it was until then she realizes; that
regret begins our wages of war within, and
the fear of regret fights curiosity;
Intellectualism fights Emotion. 
the fight is like an indecisive rider, 
who orders a horse to turn left, 
but drags the partnering horse to the right.



 

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

Wars Within

a young bird admires
the glistening brightness, the 
blueish haze of the ocean, 
reflecting the sky. little 
did she know, the ocean would 
drown her in its salt, and
its dark, melancholy, deep end. 
it was until then she knew regret.  

after surviving the fall, 
she saw a shining, conspicuous fruit. 
she was drawn to the berry; 
she knew the beauty radiated poison, 
for beauty had already deceived her,
but her feet could not stop inching forward. 
it was until then she realizes; that
regret begins our wages of war 
the fear of regret fights curiosity
Intellectualism fights Emotion. 

the fight is like an indecisive rider, 
they order a horse to turn left, 
but drag another horse to the right.



 

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

Wars Within

after long days on the journey, 
i saw a shining, conspicuous fruit. 
i was drawn to the berry; 
i knew the beauty radiated poison
but my feet could not stop inching forward.  

i am covered with bruises, and
i wish to hurt red handed,
i wish to snap the string that connects, 
i wish to cover them with bruising, 
but i must forgive.

it is easier to be a knife, and
it is hard to be a bandage. 
it is easier to be a devil, and 
it is hard to be an angel. 
Moral and Intellectualism fights Emotion. 




 

who?

as much as I like Earth science and biology, 
I do not say so or I'd seem like
that Asian kid that knows nothing but studying.

as much as I like to read fanfiction
I do not say so or I'd seem like
that girl who's brain wonders too far into her fantasies. 

as much as how I'm not feeling it today
I do not show or I'd seem like
the one who's constantly emotional, too weak to take up responsibilities. 

And I smile, because it's the most beautiful style of makeup. 

Desperation

with every inch of his strength, 
he crawls toward the gates of paradise 
an undressed child clings to his side
the mass he carries is unbearable
and wealthy drug dealers continue to pull
at his feet, luring him to the web 
of desparation and a false hope of paradise. 
 

Novel Writing Competition 2020

Igniting

"An angel slumps her shoulders, wanes her head over, and breaks down. Her composure is no longer there, her waving, golden hair is thrown over her face that leaks burning tears that the glass of her eyes could no longer hold. The sadness, the emotion of the picture I'm seeing through my eyes.. is perfection." thought K209. "Why do the ones we were meant to replicate try so hard to achieve their twisted views of perfection? I'd die of boredom if I were like that-- if I could die." 

E785 flips her hair back behind her face and wipes those flaming tears from her eyes, going back to her so called, 'normal' self, and her radiance turns off as if someone unplugged the chord. It's truly too bad that Dr. Xyzagerium had to throw her away due to her paralyzed legs. Surprisingly, K209 wasn't thrown away for his hazardous thoughts, but the missing left humorous and missing ribs. 

"K209,...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

Igniting

"An angel slumps her shoulders, wanes her head over, and breaks down. Her composure is no longer there, her waving, golden hair is thrown over her face that leaks burning tears that the glass of her eyes could no longer hold. The sadness, the emotion of the picture I'm seeing through my eyes.. is perfection." thought K209. "Why do the ones we were meant to replicate try so hard to achieve their twisted views of perfection? I'd die of boredom if I were like that-- if I could die." 

E785 flips her hair back behind her face and wipes those flaming tears from her eyes, going back to her so called, 'normal' self, and the light turns off as if someone unplugged the chord. It's truly too bad that Dr. Xyzagerium had to throw her away due to her inability to use her legs. Surprisingly, K209 wasn't thrown away for his hazardous thoughts, but the missing left humorous and...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

Igniting

"An angel slumps her shoulders, wanes her head over, and begins to break down. Her composure is no longer there, her waving, golden hair is thrown over her face that leaks burning tears that the glass of her eyes could no longer hold. Unlike the moon who steals light from the sun, she radiates through her beauty. Her white dress flows along and dances with the wind of the night, so pure, so strong. The sadness, the emotion of the picture I'm seeing through my eyes.. is perfection." thought K209. "Why do the ones we were meant to replicate try so hard to achieve their twisted views of perfection? I'd die of boredom if I were like that-- if I could die." 

E785 flips her hair back behind her face and wipes those beautiful, flaming tears from her eyes, going back to her so called, 'normal' self, and the light turns off as if someone unplugged the chord. It's...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

Igniting

"An angel slumps her shoulders, wanes her head over, and begins to break down. Her composure is no longer there, her waving, golden hair is thrown over her face that leaks burning tears that the glass of her eyes could no longer hold. Unlike the moon who plagiarizes light from the sun, she radiates through her beauty. Her white dress flows along and dances with the wind of the night, so pure, so strong; yet she is such an easy target for the ones who lurk where her radiance cannot reach. The sadness, the emotion of the picture I'm seeing through my eyes.. is perfection." thought K209. "Why do the ones we were meant to replicate try so hard to achieve their twisted views of perfection? I'd die of boredom if I were like that-- if I could die." 

E785 flips her hair back behind her face and wipes those beautiful, flaming tears from her eyes, going back to...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

Igniting

"An angel slumps her shoulders, wanes her head over, and begins to break down. Her composure is no longer there, her waving, golden hair is thrown over her face that leaks burning tears that the glass of her eyes could no longer hold. Unlike the moon who plagiarizes light from the sun, she radiates through her beauty. Her white dress flows along and dances with the wind of the night, so pure, so strong; yet she is such an easy target for the ones who lurk where her radiance cannot reach. The sadness, the emotion of the picture I'm seeing through my eyes.. is perfection." thought K209. "Why the ones we were meant to replicate try so hard to achieve their twisted views of perfection? I'd die of boredom if I were like that-- if I could die." 

E785 flips her hair back behind her face and wipes those beautiful, flaming tears from her eyes, going back to her...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

Igniting

"An angel slumps her shoulders, wanes her head over, and begins to break down. Her composure is no longer there, her waving, golden hair is thrown over her face that leaks burning tears that the glass of her eyes could no longer hold. Unlike the moon who plagiarizes light from the sun, she radiates through her beauty. Her white dress flows along and dances with the wind of the night, so pure, so strong; yet she is such an easy target for the ones who lurk where her radiance cannot reach. The sadness, the emotion of the picture I'm seeing through my eyes.. is perfection." thought K920. "Why the ones we were meant to replicate try so hard to achieve their twisted views of perfection? I'd die of boredom if I were like that-- if I could die." 

E785 flips her hair back behind her face and wipes those beautiful, flaming tears from her eyes, going back to her...

When Branta Canadensis Go South

When Branta Canadensis Go South

The screen on my window blurs my view, but I see
the leaves turn from an emerald to gold and vermilion. 
Colorful polyester and wool flies over our heads when the air chills, 
so there’s no conspicuous green apple of the red, 
and we’re a mass of emotions and flesh. 
Can you imagine an autobiography of everyone? 

When Branta Canadensis Go South

Only when I lie still, in the fallen leaves, and look up, 
I realize that clouds chatter together. 
Clouds are like herds of elephants, 
traveling with their families from place to place, and no one
needs a home as long as they’re with one another.  
I’ve never seen one cloud formation twice. 

When Branta Canadensis Go South

The sun bends down at two o’clock to through my window; shooting
its lasers through the mistakes of the walls, 
illuminating invisible snow 
the silent content of the mourning doves, and
the rotting of the pumpkins. 
...

When Branta Canadensis Go South

When Branta Canadensis Go South

The screen on my window blurs my view, but I see
the leaves turn from an emerald to gold and vermilion. 
Colorful polyester and wool flies over our heads when the air chills, 
so there’s no conspicuous green apple of the red, 
and we’re a mass of emotions and flesh. 
Can you imagine an autobiography of everyone? 

When Branta Canadensis Go South

Only when I lie still, in the fallen leaves, and look up, 
I realize that clouds chatter together. 
Clouds are like herds of elephants, 
traveling with their families from place to place, and no one
needs a home as long as they’re with one another.  
I’ve never seen one cloud formation twice. 

When Branta Canadensis Go South

My crimson rose garden evanesces, 
and my tomatoes and squash pass away.
Life flows out of my garden, an endless flux, 
but the seeds I traded for a cow, 
metamorphose into a beanstalk reaching the sky,  ...

When Branta Canadensis Go South

When Branta Canadensis Go South

The screen on my window blurs my view, but I see
the leaves go from an emerald to gold and vermillion. 
The air chills to make us put colorful wool over our heads,
so there’s no green apple of the red, 
and we’re a mass of emotions and flesh. 
Can you imagine an autobiography of everyone? 

When Branta Canadensis Go South

Only when I lay still, in the leaves, and look up, 
I realize that clouds chatter together. 
Clouds are like herds of elephants, 
traveling with their families from place to place, 
and no one needs a home as long as they’re with each other. 
I’ve never seen the same cloud formation in one place. 

When Branta Canadensis Go South

My crimson rose garden evanesces, 
and my tomatoes and squash pass away.
Life flows out of my garden, an endless flux, 
but the seeds I traded for a cow, 
metamorphose into a beanstalk reaching the...

When Branta Canadensis Go South

When Branta Canadensis Goes South

The screen on my window blurs my view, but I see
the leaves go from an emerald to gold and vermillion. 
The air chills to make us put colorful wool over our heads,
so there’s no green apple of the red, 
and we’re a mass of emotions and flesh. 
Can you imagine an autobiography of everyone? 

When Branta Canadensis Goes South

Only when I lay still, in the leaves, and look up, 
I realize that clouds chatter together. 
Clouds are like herds of elephants, 
traveling with their families from place to place, 
and no one needs a home as long as they’re with each other. 
I’ve never seen the same cloud formation in one place. 

When Branta Canadensis Goes South

My crimson rose garden evanesces, 
and my tomatoes and squash pass away.
Life flows out of my garden, an endless flux, 
but the seeds I traded for a cow, 
metamorphose into a beanstalk reaching the...

When Branta Canadensis Go South

When Branta Canadensis Goes South

The screen on my window blurs my view, but I see
the leaves go from a fresh green to gold and vermillion. 
The air chills to make us put colorful wool over our heads,
so there’s no green apple of the red, 
and we’re a mass of emotions and flesh. 
I wonder why all my friends like blue? 

When Branta Canadensis Goes South

Only when I lay still, and examine the clouds,
I realize that clouds move. 
Clouds are like herds of elephants, 
traveling with their families from place to place, 
and no one needs a home as long as they’re with each other. 
I’ve never seen the same cloud formation in one place. 

When Branta Canadensis Goes South

My crimson rose garden evanesces, 
and my tomatoes and squashes pass away.
Life flows out of my garden like an endless flux, 
but the seeds I traded for a cow, 
metamorphose into a beanstalk reaching the...

Spam

I'm eat my lunch, 
I pick the spam out of the noodles 
and plop it right into my dad's bowl. 
"Why don't you like spam?" he asks.

I reply, "It tastes like chemicals"
"Well technically, everything is made of chemical elements from the periodic table"
I roll my eyes, "I just don't like the taste"
He then tells me

"Little do you know, 
this was our favorite childhood food, 
as we lacked protein, 
this was the cheapest form of meat." 

The world is unfair to spam:
While spam was made from death too, 
it's regarded with less respect for its lack of purity, 
but spam is kind enough to cheap for us. 

Identity

I've tried to be the perfectionist, the grammar nerd, the fashionista, the one with the big vocabulary, the scientist, the musician, the shy one, the leader, the follower, the obsessed, the arrogant, the self-conscious, the weeb, the sporty, the passionate, the politician, the overly nice, the ice queen, and the practical. 
Of the 20 people I impersonate, 
not even one of them is the true me. 
Who is the true me? 
I don't know either, 
I only know that I'm a mere vessel 
striving to be rise upon the average 
yet consisted of the same elements 
of whatever's down bellow. 
It seems that all my life 
I've tried to be better and more likable. 
Like the chick that dies after it is pushed out of her nest, 
I can no longer find myself. 

 

Untitled

Sometimes I wonder


Am I meant to be the antagonist of the show?


I know what's right


but why does my mind go wrong? 


I'm tired of trying to be right


trying to get some validation


I"m wondering if I'm sane. 

When Leaves Flush

The screen on my window blurs my view, but I see
the leaves went from a fresh green to gold and vermillion. 
The air chills to make us put colorful wool over our heads,
so there’s no green apple of the red, 
and we’re a mass of emotions and flesh. 
I wonder why all my friends like blue? 

Only when I lay still, and examine the clouds,
I realize that clouds move. 
Clouds are like herds of elephants, 
traveling with their families from place to place, 
and no one needs a home as long as they’re with each other. 
I’ve never seen the same cloud formation in one place. 

My crimson rose garden evanesces, 
and my tomatoes and squashes pass away.
Life flows out of my garden like an endless flux, 
but the seeds I traded for a cow, 
metamorphose into a beanstalk reaching the sky, 
and I grieve my sacrifice for the cow. 

Speechwriting Competition 2020

Justification of Crime

    A lot of us say that a little bit of bad is okay. It's okay to eat desserts once in a while on your diet, and it's okay to procrastinate on work once in a while as long as it doesn't turn into a habit. Let's switch the words up a little bit. It's okay to steal when you're in a financial crisis, and it's okay to murder some people as long as doesn't turn into a habit. Is a little bit of bad still okay? Although most would definitely say that the items I just listed is not okay, on a different stand point, some may say differently. Morals and opinions clash together, as there's a certain extent to when an opinion can be about morals, and when morals become opinions. 
    Theft is illegal for practically all countries, as it's decently agreeable that taking someone else's items without their consent is unmoral. On the other...

A Busy City

There's a busy city inside my head
The left side controls the right side 
The right side controls the left side
Traffic lights go green then red 

Someone crashes into a car
Or does the car crash into someone? 
A woman staggers on her way to work in heels, 
A man is stuck in traffic, because there was an accident. 

There are people sitting on the sides of the roads with a cup in their hand,
Others walk by pretending they're invisible. 
Some are barely covered enough for the weather, 
Some are stepping on pricey pieces of fabric. 

There's a busy city inside my head
The right controls the left side 
The left side controls the right side
Traffics go red then green 

I have a headache, leave me alone. 

A Tiring Embrace

You tell me that I'm your other half
                   that I'm the one who you look up to the most
                        that I've stayed with you for all these years
                            that I'm so important to you

But why doesn't your embrace feel warm? 
        why don't I feel the fireworks in my chest?
        why doesn't my heart pound so hard that I hear it in my ears?
        Why do I feel worn out?

Who am I to you? 
Who was I supposed to replace?
Which gap was I supposed to fill?  
           I'm tired from this embrace. 
                                           the cold kisses 
                                                    the sweet nothings. 
                          

A Conversation With My Belly Button

"Hello, my belly button. I haven't seen you in a day. How are you?"

She glares at me through the mirror. "I've been stuffed under some cotton and polyester, how do you think my day has been?" 

"I want to keep you hidden."

"Why?" 

"Clearly, you're surrounded by a layer of fat." 

"So you take me out of that cotton and polyester and let me have some air, since I'm already surrounded by a layer of fat that you won't burn off." 

"I just don't want others to see."

Someone is about to come in. 

"Bye." 

Hands

My hands are blue 
They're increasing in density
They're shrinking in size
    as the red on the thermometer drops

I blow warm air, but the my hands remain blue
I rub them together, but they turn a darker hue
I clutch my blanket, but it's still the same
    as I cannot raise the red 

Until your hand surrounds my hands
    As heated particles excite each other
        Yours excite mine. 
 

When I lay down.

The very second my feet are off the ground
The very second my butt sticks to the surface
The very second my back glues itself onto the surface as well
The very second my head rests back 

I no longer want to open my notebook to write another literary analysis
I no longer want to stare at a page of incomprehensible writing called 'math'
I no longer want to work on a project with my group through a small screen--which my group doesn't want to work either
I no longer want to interact with people I barely know, as I cannot be myself in front of them

Sitting up straight
Making sure to seem friendly 
Smiling as wide as I can
Trying not to show that I'm unbothered with a group of people who don't participate when they're in my screen 

My energy is drained 
I no longer want to do anything
May I rest in peace? 


No. 

Actors

I hate actors. 
Not the professional ones, as I don't know any of them personally to actually regard the word 'hate' with them. 
The two-faced ones, and the ones who play victim. 
I'm faced with people's masked smiles, asking me,
"How blessed do you feel for God to allow this person to be in your life?" 
"This person is so kind for always donating to us!" 
"From being this person's friend, I know that this person wouldn't do that." 
Meanwhile, I'm the one who seems to be strange, ungrateful, and scheming. 
I'm over my period of getting upset at people who have negative opinions of me. 
I don't need to prove myself to people who don't matter. 
But I still hate two-faced, victim playing actors. 

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 8

Challenge Completed

Day 5- 
Through a blurry pair of lenses, you see a mixture of orange, red, and yellow. The wind blows, but warmth fills you up. Today, the wind isn't an enemy, it's a friend. A red so bright like fire emerges from a painting of blurred warm colors. You take off your blurred lenses, and again, it's your Dreamland acquaintance. 
Today, his hair is rather conspicuous, in comparison to his normally relaxing colors. 
"What's with the hair today?" I asked him, looking at the falling leaves. 
He stays silent. 
I turn to face him. "What's wrong?" 
"I.. wanted to.." he began in mutters. "To stand out." 
"You've always stood out to me." 
"Really?"
"Of course." 
His hair turns back into his natural, raven color. The wind envelopes you two with the warm colored leaves. 

Day 4- 
You're alone. 
Standing in a large mass of people, you're alone. Why? Because you're standing in a large mass of strangers. The strangers aren't...

Writing Streak Challenge- Week 8, Day 5, Streak Completed!

Day 5- 
Through a blurry pair of lenses, you see a mixture of orange, red, and yellow. The wind blows, but warmth fills you up. Today, the wind isn't an enemy, it's a friend. A red so bright like fire emerges from a painting of blurred warm colors. You take off your blurred lenses, and again, it's your Dreamland acquaintance. 
Today, his hair is rather conspicuous, in comparison to his normally relaxing colors. 
"What's with the hair today?" I asked him, looking at the falling leaves. 
He stays silent. 
I turn to face him. "What's wrong?" 
"I.. wanted to.." he began in mutters. "To stand out." 
"You've always stood out to me." 
"Really?" 
"Of course." 
His hair turns back into his natural, raven color. 

Day 4- 
You're alone. 
Standing in a large mass of people, you're alone. Why? Because you're standing in a large mass of strangers. The strangers aren't strangers with the strangers, and their heads are a couple...

Writing Streak Challenge- Week 8, Day 4

You're alone. 
Standing in a large mass of people, you're alone. Why? Because you're standing in a large mass of strangers. The strangers aren't strangers with the strangers, and their heads are a couple yards above yours, with their necks embraced by gold and their hands decorated with diamonds. Wherever you are, you cannot see light, as the strangers' shadows lay upon you. 
You're stamped on, you're pushed over, and you don't exist to these strangers. 
Until you see some gold, shining brighter than the ones on the strangers' necks and the diamonds on their hands. Just by seeing him, you know it's the boy who always visits you in.. wherever you are. It's the raven haired boy from last time, except now his hair is like silky gold, and his dimples are showing today. 
He levitates like Peter Pan, and brings you along with him. Wherever you are, you're free and higher than any of the strangers you just...

My brain

I'm staring at a packet.  
I wonder if my brain has its own heartbeat. Sometimes, I feel a thumping in my head so powerful that it throws me off my feet, onto the floor. My sight blurs, and what should be English and numbers on my paper looks like a piece of abstract art with some Korean characters decorating it. My body goes numb. While my consciousness is still in my body, my soul leaves it, and I become an empty shell of flesh and bones. 
There's a bug in the program called "My Brain." The electricity inside it isn't flowing in the right directions, and programs cannot be sent to the robot, my body. These electric shocks are hitting my skull and bouncing off of it, and even my ears can hear the collisions. 
"Kailani? Kailani!" my Honors Algebra 2 teacher calls to me. 
My eye contact finally breaks with that rotten piece pile of rubbish. 
"Yes?" I ask.  ...

Writing Streak Challenge- Week 8, Day 3

You were with your family for a nice, peaceful walk after dinner until you stumble over a green rock. As you look back at what you stumbled over, you find a head, arms, and a tail poke through the rock. A turtle. 
Thus, you bring it home so the turtle becomes a bunk-mate with your hamster. Your hamster's upset, so he shoos the turtle out. Then on, the turtle lives in his own shell again, until your hamster trips over the rock. 

Psychic Distance

Gift of Age

1) It was one ice thawing spring when Cory Nickson's dad's hair became as turned a couple shades lighter, and the wrinkles of his smile duplicated, but he seemed younger to her. The strong back that once protected her had been worn down to a slumped curve, and it was her turn to stand up straight and protect him. 

2) This spring, Cory' Nickson's dad got older and crankier, but he seemed younger in a sense. The one who had always shielded Cory could no longer do so, and it was her turn to shield him. 

3) Cory's dad aged, but he seemed younger to her. As he's been shielding Cory all her life, he can no longer do so for her, as age had worn him down. It was now Cory's turn to take care of and shield for her father. 

4) Although her father hit the 50's, he didn't seem as powerful to her anymore. He's been a protective, loving...

Writing Streak Challenge- Week 8, Day 2

It's an old-fashioned, black and white movie, except you're in it, and the people in it aren't made up characters. Everyone you've met outside the world of dreams before appears. A perfect moment to embarrass yourself. 
You slip on a banana peel that someone before you on the Mario Kart race track threw at you. 
You die in PubG without even knowing who shot you. 
The worst-- as you're admiring yourself in the mirror, all your teeth rot and fall out. 
Such things happen until you wake up, being happy that wasn't reality. 

Forgive and Forget

Forgive and Forget 
Easier said than done. 
I try to forgive, 
but cannot forget. 

I'll forgive my friend for twisting my doll's arm,
but I won't forget that she twisted her arm. 
When red surrounds my head, 
I'll remember how she twisted my doll's arm. 

Forgive and Forget. 
Easier to not. 
Better to try to forgive. 
Yet forgetting isn't an option.
 

If Poker Cards Were People- a sequel to FantasyOtter12's "If Chess Pieces Were People"

If Poker cards were people, this would most likely happen: 

1. The kings of Hearts, Spades, Clubs, and Diamonds would punish the Joker, Ace, and the Two. In every country, the king is supposed to rule, yet in Poker, the Joker, Ace, and the Two seem to have more power. Especially not Aces and Twos, who should be like knights or merchants in the kingdom. 

2. Why should the kings rule the countries? Queens can do everything that the king can. Queen Elizabeth shaped England into a very powerful country. Thus, the queen and the king fight for power. 

3. Amidst all this chaos about who should be the ruler of the country, the Jack teams up with the Joker, Ace, and the Two who sits in jail, waiting for their executions. They hatch a plan and murder the king and queen, and the 4 rise to power again. 

4. The threes, fours, fives, sixes, sevens, eights, nines, and tens...

Writing Streak Challenge: Week 8 Day 1

You always meet someone important to you in your dreams. Sometimes, the identity of this person is unknown. Today, you meet the same reappearing boy with raven hair. It seems that he's your best friend in this world of dreams, but today the mood darkens. You're on a boat with him, and heading into the dark clouded area above the ocean. 
"Why are we heading in this direction?" you ask your raven haired friend. 
He doesn't answer. 
He rows you further into the dark clouds while you're frozen in fear, unable to row the other way to argue. The wind blows the boat over, and you fall into the dark depths of the ocean. 
Falling... immobile. 

Clouds

clouds move across the sky only when I lay still 
like herds of elephants, families travel around their world
larger elephants accompany the younger ones
elder elephants lead the adult ones to learn how to lead the herd

"Help me do the laundry!" my mom called.

My bubble is popped
The clouds are no longer moving
They are again, the same puffs of condensated water
Still in the air, yet always there

today I'm laying on the grass again
the clouds are like subordinates to other things
they parted fast to allow a jet to pass
clouds are peaceful beings; they only make such sudden movements when they're frightened

"Let's play volleyball!" my friend called to me. 

My train of thought snaps
The clouds are still in the air again, yet always there

I find it funny how I don't recognize the movement of the clouds
until I stop noticing others
 

Proof

Social media only shows our happiest moments
Medals and plaques only represent our achievements
We only want attention when we're looking the best
and we stuff the skeletons in our closets like a nest

I hope they think I'm popular and cool
I hope they notice me with my awards 
I hope they see me in the best spot 
I hope they don't look in the closet 

Yet every night 
creak .. creaaak ... creaaaaaak 
The skeletons' fingers go tap tap tap 
and ajar goes that closet door. 

These skeletons are giving me 
my dark, sagging eye bags, 
my drooping, blue mentality, 
and my dry, down-turned lips. 

So I let them out of my closet
and they roam around 
to my families' rooms, 
my friends' rooms, 
and scare some away 

It turns out that I didn't need to keep those skeletons in my closet 
        and I didn't need the ones who got scared away by my skeletons from...

Writing Streak Challenge- Week 7, Day 2

A whole new world to escape to is carried in the Lord of the Rings. 
Sherlock Holmes never fails to surprise us. 
Shakespeare's unique way of words always amazes us. 
Other writers on Write the World have such creatives pieces that absorb me into the story. 

These are reasons why these great pieces of work are great. 

My goal is to incorporate what others did in their writing into mine. Not plagiarism, but the things that make a piece good-- whether it's how descriptive it is, how unique it is, or how well it flows. 

Home

There are beautiful hills in Scotland,
There are elegant ice sheets in Greenland,
There are grand castles in Germany,
There are steep mountains in China,
and lively nights in Japan

Yet nowhere feels more right than home. 
My loyal blue bungee chair 
My kind gray sweater 
My gentle blanket
and my loving family

 

Perfect?

Factory-made items are geometrically perfect. 
    The 90 degree angles at the corners of the walls are perfect 
    The circle of the rim of my lamp is perfectly 360 degrees
    All my doors are perfectly the same rectangle
    The face of my teddy are symmetrical on both sides

Thus humans believe they can achieve perfection

Everything about me isn't geometrically perfect. 
    My hand-written words are rigged 
    My left eye is a mono-lid while my right eye is a double eyelid
    My right hand is more powerful than my left
    My drawings don't look like the example 

Thus individuals cannot achieve perfection

Yet how do individual beings that cannot achieve perfection create perfect machines that can create perfect objects? 

Only history knows. 
 

Writing Streak Challenge- Week 7, Day 1

How can someone write something as great as the Lord of the Rings without reading the novel? How can someone become a play and poem writer as creative as Shakespeare without reading his work? 
In order to know how to be a great writer, and what must be done to do so, one must know what a great writer's works look, sound, and feel like. 
To reach my goal to become a writer, I must read these works. 
Thus, I would read more of these famous classical works. 

Flowers

The doorbell rang. 
I dragged myself and the bird nest sitting at the top of my head over to the door. The same quarantine days have included me having a mental breakdown every once in a while, and forgetting how to participate on a normal day of interacting with humans other than myself, my family, and my friends that I'd bother to call. If the doorbell rings, it's either an advertisement or a delivery. 
I open the door and a ray of sunshine comes through. Is the source of the sunlight the sun? Of course NOT. The ray comes from a lady's smile, whereas the edges of her eyes are wrinkled and her lips are stretched to the side. In her hands sit a bouquet of flowers. 
You're probably thinking, why not add an adjective, and say, "a beautiful bouquet of flowers?" Perhaps they'd look beautiful to any normal person, but I've never really understood why anyone would waste their...

Flowers

The doorbell rang. 
I dragged myself and the bird nest sitting at the top of my head over to the door. The same quarantine days have included me having a mental breakdown every once in a while, and forgetting how to participate on a normal day of interacting with humans other than myself, my family, and my friends that I'd bother to call. If the doorbell rings, it's either an advertisement or a delivery. 
I open the door and a ray of sunshine comes through. Is the source of the sunlight the sun? Of course NOT. The ray comes from a lady's smile, whereas the edges of her eyes are wrinkled and her lips are stretched to the side. In her hands sit a bouquet of flowers. 
Perhaps they'd look beautiful to any normal person, but I've never really understood why anyone would waste their money on them. You cannot eat them, you cannot drink them, nor do they have...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 6

Writing Streak Challenge Week 6- Challenge Completed

Day 1: 
As lots of us must spend most of the day indoors, it may seem like there's no reason to dress up. 
-
Sometimes, dressing up isn't for showing off to others, but showing off to ourselves. 

Looking good in the mirror makes myself happier, and I want looking good in the mirror a reminder that I'm beautiful just the way I am, the way I like to dress up. 
-
Dressing up isn't just putting on a gown or tux, it's wearing clothes that make you, you. 
-
#selfrespect #selflove

Day 2: 
I hate to break it to you, but no matter how kind you are, how caring you are, how close to "perfect" you are, there will always be people who dislike you, unless you decide to stop meeting people. 
-
This is from personal experience. I worked hard to become the first chair clarinetist in our school's ensemble, thinking that my parents and the people...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 6

Writing Streak Challenge Week 6- Challenge Completed

Day 1: 
As lots of us must spend most of the day indoors, it may seem like there's no reason to dress up. 
-
Sometimes, dressing up isn't for showing off to others, but showing off to ourselves. 

Looking good in the mirror makes myself happier, and I want looking good in the mirror a reminder that I'm beautiful just the way I am, the way I like to dress up. 
-
Dressing up isn't just putting on a gown or tux, it's wearing clothes that make you, you. 
-
#selfrespect #selflove

Day 2: 
I hate to break it to you, but no matter how kind you are, how caring you are, how close to "perfect" you are, there will always be people who dislike you, unless you decide to stop meeting people. 
-
This is from personal experience. I worked hard to become the first chair clarinetist in our school's ensemble, thinking that my parents and the people...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 6

Writing Streak Challenge Week 6- Challenge Completed

Day 1: 
As lots of us must spend most of the day indoors, it may seem like there's no reason to dress up. 
-
Sometimes, dressing up isn't for showing off to others, but showing off to ourselves. 

Looking good in the mirror makes myself happier, and I want looking good in the mirror a reminder that I'm beautiful just the way I am, the way I like to dress up. 
-
Dressing up isn't just putting on a gown or tux, it's wearing clothes that make you, you. 
-
#selfrespect #selflove

Day 2: 
I hate to break it to you, but no matter how kind you are, how caring you are, how close to "perfect" you are, there will always be people who dislike you, unless you decide to stop meeting people. 
-
This is from personal experience. I worked hard to become the first chair clarinetist in our school's ensemble, thinking that my parents and the people...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 6

Writing Streak Challenge Week 6- Challenge Completed

Day 1: 
As lots of us must spend most of the day indoors, it may seem like there's no reason to dress up. 
-
Sometimes, dressing up isn't for showing off to others, but showing off to ourselves. 

Looking good in the mirror makes myself happier, and I want looking good in the mirror a reminder that I'm beautiful just the way I am, the way I like to dress up. 
-
Dressing up isn't just putting on a gown or tux, it's wearing clothes that make you, you. 
-
#selfrespect #selflove

Day 2: 
I hate to break it to you, but no matter how kind you are, how caring you are, how close to "perfect" you are, there will always be people who dislike you, unless you decide to stop meeting people. 
-
This is from personal experience. I worked hard to become the first chair clarinetist in our school's ensemble, thinking that my parents and the people...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 6

Writing Streak Challenge Week 6- Challenge Completed

As lots of us must spend most of the day indoors, it may seem like there's no reason to dress up. 
-
Sometimes, dressing up isn't for showing off to others, but showing off to ourselves. 

Looking good in the mirror makes myself happier, and I want looking good in the mirror a reminder that I'm beautiful just the way I am, the way I like to dress up. 
-
Dressing up isn't just putting on a gown or tux, it's wearing clothes that make you, you. 
-
#selfrespect #selflove

Living

If you swim for too long, you'll drown
If you run for too long, you'll trip
If you fly for too long, you'll fall
If you live for too long, you'll die

If everything dies at some point, 
    what's the point of living? 
If everything living must be living, 
    why must they be living? 

Is to live to feel pain?
Is to live to feel happy? 
Is to live to give love? 
Is to live to give life? 

What's the point of living? 
Why must the living be living? 
I"ll decide for myself
You'll decide for yourself. 

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Hidden Truths

    My creator's face is buried in his hands. Sitting beside him, I'm covered in dark, harsh strokes, singing a sorrowful melody. Other competitors' names boom through a speaker; they then receive golden plaques for their paintings that sing delightful melodies. My creator's name is never called. 
    We feel condescending glares on us; the same glares the judges gave. The room feels colder. 
    "Why do you paint such ugliness on me?" I ask him. 
    Looking into the distance, he responds, "Because there is such ugliness in the world, but people would rather hide such truths."
    He's missing a golden plaque. 
    

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Hidden Truths

    My creator's face is buried in his hands. Sitting beside him, I'm covered in dark, harsh strokes, singing a sorrowful melody. Other competitors' names boom through a speaker; they then receive golden plaques for their paintings that sing delightful melodies. My creator's name is never called. 
    We feel condescending glares on us; the same glares the judges gave. The room feels colder. 
    "Why do you paint such ugliness on me?" I ask him. 
    "Because there is such ugliness in the world, but people would rather hide such truths."
    He's missing a golden plaque. 
    

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Hidden Truths

    My creator's face is buried in his hands. Sitting next to him, I'm covered in dark, harsh strokes, singing a sorrowful melody. Other competitors' names boom through a loud speaker; they then receive golden plaques for their paintings that sing beautiful, happy melodies. My creator's name is never called. 
    We feel condescending glares on us; the same glares the judges gave. The room feels colder. 
    "Why do you paint such ugliness on me?" I ask him. 
    "Because there is such ugliness in the world, but people don't want to admit their dark, harsh truths."
    He's missing a golden plaque. 
    

Disease

There's a chronic disease going around, which will not only spread around families, but people around one with the disease. It turns people into monsters. Once this person is corrupted by the disease, it's like a swarm of darkness infiltrates them, and they're like a flower that quickly withers. They'd act like wounded animals unable to heal, who would grind their wounds on a tree's bark in an attempt to relief the pain, causing more instead. 
The cause of the disease: a lack of love. 

Synapses

Poetry- Gibberish

PROMPT - Gibberish

GENRE - Poetry

FULL DETAILS - Write something that may make no sense to the naked eye, but makes sense to the writer and the readers who wear spectacles. Envelope your writing with symbolism, metaphors, and hyperbole. Here's my example: 

Here's my child: 
    He smiles radiantly 
    He sings to the moon
    He looks just like me
    and He falls asleep at noon. 

But the eyes made him mutate 
    He now wears a stoic expression
    He now sits in an office under the moon 
    He now no longer looks like me 
    and He falls asleep at midnight.

The mouths made him monstrous     
    He now giggles in the sight of red 
    He now drinks wine on top of stacks of paper
    He now no longer looks at me 
    and nor did I want to see him...

Inventory

Prison Escape

I've escaped a prison of
    Monday dreading,
    Stock-market crashing
    Sitting at an office 
    Staring at my salary.
I no longer need my 
        wallet
        phone
        files
        suitcase
        and face.
I'm heading into the mountains
With a sun-blocking hat 
        a dirty, worn down shovel
        a woven basket
        water bottle
        my hands
        and my feet. 
I've escaped a prison, and it's Monday. 

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Hidden Truths

    My creator's face is buried in his hands. Sitting next to him, I'm covered in dark, harsh strokes, with a sorrowful melody. His competitors' names boom through a loud speaker; they then receive golden plaques for their paintings that sing beautiful melodies. His name is never called. 
    We feel condescending glares on us; the same glares the judges gave. The room feels colder. 
    "Why do you paint such ugliness on me?" I ask him. 
    "Because there is such ugliness in the world, but people don't want to admit their dark, harsh truths."
    He's missing a golden plaque. 
    

Writing Streak Challenge -- Week 5

Not Just a Tree

Critters lay in my realm of darkness; my shadow 
Animals intake the muck I exhale; oxygen 
6-legged creatures climb on dark, hard base; my stump 
It may seem like I'm their king, and their castle. 

Critters take refuge in my shield from the sun; my shadow
Animals survive on the air I create; oxygen. 
6-legged creatures call me home. 
I'm like their guardian spirit. 

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Hidden Truths

    My creator's face is buried in his hands. I'm covered in dark, harsh strokes, with a sorrowful melody. His competitors' names boom through a loud speaker; they march up to the podium with their chests high. They then receive golden plaques for their paintings that sing beautiful melodies. His name is never called. 
    We feel condescending glares on us. The room feels colder. 
    "Why do you paint such ugliness on me?" I ask him. 
    "Because there is such ugliness in the world, but people don't want to admit their dark, harsh truths."
    I think he's missing a golden plaque. 
    

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Hidden Truths

    My creator clutches his face in his hands, as I sit next to him. I'm covered in dark, harsh strokes, and my melody is sorrowful. His competitors' names boom through a loud speaker, and they march up to the podium with their chests high. They then receive a piece of gold for paintings that sing beautiful melodies. His name is never called. 
    We feel condescending glares on us.
    "Why do you paint such ugliness on me?" I ask him. 
    "Because there is such ugliness in the world, but people don't want to admit their dark, harsh truths."
    

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Hidden Truths

    My creator clutches his face in his hands, as I sit next to him, coated in dark, harsh, strokes of paint that croak about prejudice and discrimination. He watches his competitors' names get called as they happily march up to a podium to receive a piece of gold for their beautifully colored paintings that sing the glories of life. His name is never called. 
    We feel condescending glares on us.
    "Why do you paint such ugliness on me?" I ask him. 
    "Because there is such ugliness in the world, but people don't want to admit their dark, harsh truths."
    

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Hidden Truths

    If you win, you move up a court. If you lose, you move down a court. The one who embraces the first court shall be awarded, and the one who falls to the last court faces a wall of condescending glares. It's the game Up River, Down River, the badminton edition.    
    From three courts away, I look at Kimi, who stands at the last court. She is a seemingly small weed who is working her way up. Although she is constantly stamped on and despised by the gardener, she continues to stand tall. 
    Kimi is someone who will succeed. 

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Hidden Truths

    If you win, you move up a court. If you lose, you move down a court. The one who embraces the first court shall be awarded, and the one who falls to the last court faces a wall of down looking glares. This is Up River, Down River, the badminton edition.    
    From three courts away, I look at Kimi, who stands at the last court. She is a seemingly small weed who is working her way up. Although she is constantly stamped on and despised by the gardener, she continues to stand tall. 
    Kimi is someone who will succeed. 

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Hidden Truths

    If you win, you move up a court. If you lose, you move down a court. The one who embraces the first court shall be awarded, and the one who falls to the last court faces a wall of down looking glares. This is Up River, Down River, the badminton edition.    
    From three courts away, I look at Kimi, who stands at the last court. While many may see her as weak and unskilled, I see her as strong and persistent. She doesn't step off the court to quit. 
    Kimi is someone who will succeed. 

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Hidden Truths

    If you win, you move up a court. If you lose, you move down the court. The ones who embraces the first court shall be awarded, and the one who falls to the last court faces a wall of down looking glares. This is Up River, Down River, the badminton edition.    
    From three courts away, I look at Kimi, who stands at the last court. While many may see her as weak and unskilled, I see her as strong and persistent. She doesn't step off the court to quit. 
    Kimi is someone who will succeed. 

Proof

We wear our yellow masks 
We post our golden papers and statues
We sit on the highest stool 
and we stuff the skeletons in our closets 

I hope they think I'm great
I hope they notice me with my awards 
I hope they see me in the best spot 
I hope they don't look in the closet 

Yet every night 
creak .. creaaak ... creaaaaaak 
The skeletons' fingers go tap tap tap 
and ajar goes that closet door. 

These skeletons are giving me 
my dark, sagging eye bags, 
my drooping, blue mentality, 
and my dry, down-turned lips. 

So I let them out of my closet
and they roam around 
to my families' rooms, 
my friends' rooms, 
and scare some away 

It turns out that I didn't need to keep those skeletons in my closet 
        and I didn't need the ones who got scared away by my skeletons from my closet. 




Message to everyone: love yourselves, and the only...

Letter Writing Competition 2020

Dear Older Brother

Dear Older Brother, 
    I still remember how you were so into technology and the advancements in the current era. You were preeminent at playing Tetris. I remember wanting to play with you, and you told me to wait until you fail the game. I sat there waiting for you for a whole hour, until you decided to fail on purpose, as we both knew that Tetris never beats you. I remember your great programming skills, how I always had to ask you for help when I wanted to program my robot. I remember your many chess awards sitting at the top of your shelf, and how I could never beat you in chess. I remember how you found the world, and the way that people are so fascinating. 
    You're not wrong. It is quite amazing how so many tasks can be done with this tiny screen I'm typing on right now, and how we've made countries...

Unravel by tk from ling tosite sigure

My fingers dig deeply into the keys 
My arms tense up 
I raise my foot with my ankle still on the ground
and I slam back down on the pedal 

Now my fingers lightly tap the keys
Short, staccato, controlled
My arms tense up even more 
I switch the pedal more often 
 
My fingers move faster
They dig harder into the keys 
I slam my foot on the pedal constantly 
and I STOP.

My arms are more relaxed
I switch the pedal at a normal pace
My fingers lightly glide across the keys
I decide to end here 

Perhaps I am taking out my anger
On my poor 81 keys
Doing so doesn't diminish the anger
I don't feel better after bullying my keys

Doing so doesn't make things better either
People are still going to comment
About my larger appearance 
So why do we bully others? 

After all, 
The only things I can do is 
Diet, and
Exercise. 
...

I Wish They Had an App for That

blob

Don't get me wrong, I'm not lonely, but I just feel lonely. I have my friends to rant about girl problems with, and the ones who help me feel better when I'm down, but it's simply impossible for someone to understand every little thing about me. I don't understand everything about me either, but sometimes, I just sit in a dark hole by myself. There are some things no one will ever understand about me, and I just need a perfect human being with me who will just listen and comfort me. Sometimes, I need someone who's able to understand absolutely everything I feel at all times, and be there with me at all times, and be able to comfort me at all times, especially when I'm sitting in that dark hole. How would I chat with a friend about how I secretly can't stand the people who dislike me when I've done nothing wrong, that I want to change...

Reality?

I sit on my porch. 
It's a little chili, 
sitting in my garden,
on a chilly day. 

So I wear my older brother's sweater. 
It's blue, 
It's ordinarily cotton, 
And it's a little sweaty. 

My parents are away, 
Working together and selling toys. 
Our family is so happy, 
And we never argue. 

I'm excited about today's festival, 
My brother's cooking fish, 
For the grand food competition, 
Which is up on every June 21st. 

I'm not sure if I should cheer for him, 
My friend, 
or one of my favorite anime characters, 
Sebastian; one hell of a butler. 

Poetry makes me very happy, 
Just jotting down my stanzas, 
Fill me with joy, 
As I sit in my brother's sweater. 

We live in a place called the Shire, 
where Hobbits happily live their daily lives, 
peacefully and happily, 
without competition nor hatred. 

Ha, 
Ha
Ha
Ha 
Ha. 

What a happy world. 
I don't want to return to the nightmares, 
Where a pandemic...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition 2020

Imperfection.

How can one be liked by others?
How can one receive others' praise? 
How can one be looked up to by others? 
How can one earn everyone's favor? 

You could be kind to everyone,
You can work hard, 
You can help the ones in need, 
You can lead others and try to unite everyone. 

There is always at least one person, 
Who despises every bit you do. 
Who absolutely wants you to leave the world, 
And never meet their eyes ever again. 

You may have never been rude to anyone, 
You may have always tried your best, 
You may have never looked away from someone in need,
You may have always tried to include everyone. 
 
Yet these people still feel such emotions toward you; 
Hatred, 
Jealousy, 
Annoyance, 
Anger. 

Even with confrontation, 
You may never know the reason. 
You may never know how to fix yourself in these cases. 

If you put in less effort to your work to diminish...

Flashlight

A Girl in This World

My pants have no pockets, 
Because I'm expected to use handbags. 
Since I must bleed monthly,
I'm back to the diapers. 

I'm constantly told,
"Stop sitting like that," 
"Eat properly,"
"Speak lightly."

I'm a girl in this world,
It feels unfair and uncomfortable.
The stereotypes are too strict, 
And I can't live up to them. 

I can do what I want,
Because I have all my meals,
Because I have my friends,
Because I have my family. 

There are infinite numbers of possibilities,
I can be a doctor,
I can be an entrepreneur,
I can be a chef, 
I can be a writer, 
and I can be an engineer. 

I'm a girl in this world, 
It feels free and happy. 
My goals are hard, 
But I can reach them with hard work. 
 

Flashlight

A Girl in This World

My pants have no pockets, 
Because I'm expected to use handbags. 
Since I cannot control how much we bleed,
I'm back to the diapers. 

I'm constantly told,
"Stop sitting like that" 
"Eat properly"
"Speak lightly"

I'm a girl in this world,
It feels unfair and uncomfortable.
The stereotypes are too strict, 
And I can't live up to them. 

I can do what I want,
My food cabinet and fridge is never locked. 
I have all the things I need to live, 
and so do I have all the things I need to be happy. 

There are infinite numbers of possibilities,
I can be a doctor,
I can be an entrepreneur,
I can be a chef, 
I can be a writer, 
and I can be an engineer. 

I'm a girl in this world, 
It feels free and happy. 
My goals are hard, 
But I can reach them with hard work.